


All things great and small

by Ridel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Borrowers - All Media Types, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Pocket Sherlock, Pocket!lock, Requests, Smauglock, Wholock, fills, johnbo, one sided sherolly - Freeform, prompts, sherolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridel/pseuds/Ridel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of (so far unconnected) Sherlock AU prompt fills. At this point contains: Wholock - Smauglock - Pocketlock</p><p>More prompts and requests welcome! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The case of the curious compendium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [PROMPT]
> 
> Wholock: The Tenth Doctor and Watson. A cozy coffee shop with some books :)

Donna wouldn't have believed him if he'd told her, but he did occasionally like to take a few minutes off from running helter-skelter and sticking his nose into trouble, in favor of sitting still and sticking his nose into a good book. In fact, a couple of regenerations ago he'd preferred books to people, on the whole.

Donna was off visiting her Grandfather today, and he, not fancying another run in with her mother, suggested they meet him at the small and cozy cafe he was currently idling in, curled up on a swanky leather chair in the back, reading one of the books from the Tardis Library and occasionally remembering that he had a mug of tea growing cold on the small round table beside him.  
The recent run in with Agatha Christie had left him craving a bit of mystery, and so he'd gathered up a few of her books, along with a compendium of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. (He was a quick reader to say the least, and was more than certain he'd be able to finish all of the material before Donna and Wilf finally showed up.)

He was currently burying his nose in chapter nine of _And then there were none_ , when suddenly someone snatched one of his books off of the table.  
The Doctor looked up, one eyebrow raised in incredulous confusion as the man, (Stocky, sandy blond hair, carrying a cane) frantically turned the pages, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Oi! A bit more gently please, it was a gift!" He chastised.

The man looked up at him, expression furious, confused, and to the doctor's highly trained eye, hiding a hint of trepidation.  
"What the hell is this?" he demanded, brandishing the heavy book in one hand like a weapon.

He couldn't resist the opportunity to be cheeky, after all the man _was_ roughing up one of his favorite collections of human literature. "It's a book! Honestly, I know the schools are dumbing down a bit in this century, but _come on_."

"I _know_ what a book is, mister." The man growled, obviously not in the mood to mess about with words. "What. The _hell._  Is _this_." He jabbed a finger at the cover, indicating both the title, and the deerstalker clad, pipe smoking figure under it.

The Doctor was well and truly mystified. Everyone knew about Doyle's famous consulting detective, and even if they didn't there was no reason in the universe to react so strongly on getting acquainted with the character.

"Er, Sherlock Holmes? Fictitious detective? Penchant for Cocaine?"

"A study in _Scarlet?_ " The man muttered, flipping from story to story. "The speckled _band?_ ... Well at least the Hound of the Baskervilles is right".

"Is... There a particular reason the others aren't?" The question was light and curious, but he'd suddenly taken to studying the man more closely. Something was obviously off about this whole conversation, and now the Doctor was now edge of his seat engaged.

"I bloody _wrote_ these! Well, not these." His brow was creased in confusion and distaste as he skimmed through one of the actual stories.

"Oh, Are you sure?" The Doctor asked, innocent confusion in his tone. "They've been around for a while..." The man flipped the book over, his eyes widening when he saw the list of dates each story was released.

"1891 to 1905?!" flicking his wrist, he tossed the book back over to the Doctor, a look of disgust on his face. "I don't know who's sick idea of a joke this is, but it's _not_ funny."

"What Joke? There's no joke! Unless of course _you're_ having a go at _me_." The Doctor protested. Although intrigued, he was unappreciative of the hurling about of his books. "Look, who are you?" He finally asked. The man straightened up a bit.

"Doctor John H. Watson. Former flatmate, blogger and friend of Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective now deceased. Who the hell are you?"

"What?" The doctor murmured, eyes like saucers and eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "Nooo. _What_?" He uncrossed his legs and eagerly motioned to the chair across from him, a goofy grin splitting his face. "Well, John Watson, I'm the Doctor, and I think we ought to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first in a series of Sherlock AU prompt fills I wrote up for some of the good folks on Tumblr. :)  
> Please, feel free to leave a prompt in the comment box if you like! I can't promise I'll write all of them, just the one's that take my fancy, but I'm still open to suggestions! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. The dragon thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [PROMPT]
> 
> Smauglock: Johnbo with a pocket Smauglock getting into big trouble? :3

There was trouble, like realizing you'd forgotten your brute of a great aunt's birthday, and then there was trouble, like being caught red handed trying to smuggle a pocket sized fire drake past a party of Dwarves who very definitely wanted it dead.

Bilbo slowed down, trying to catch his breath and gage how much distance he'd managed to put between himself and his pursuers.

A large lump stirred in his deep coat pocket. "Thief! Why are you stopping?" The firedrakes tiny, humanlike head poked out of said pocket, looking quite annoyed, if not a little frightened.  
"Would you stop calling me that?" The hobbit shot back in a hissed whisper. He glanced around again, hoping there was no one near enough to hear them. He sighed. "I think we've lost them for now. I'm going to see about finding a place to lay low for the night."

"What?!" The tiny dragon pulled himself out of the pocket and scrabbled his way up the coat. "We can't stop here! Not with me stuck like this. I won't be able to protect either of us. We need to keep moving!"

"Sherlock!" The Halfling grunted, detaching the dragon from his shoulder, "Or Smaug or whatever you want to be called now, would you just shut up and listen to me?" He glared frustratedly at his companion. The dragon squirmed unhappily in the hobbit's gentle but firm grasp. "I've been running for bloody hours. We've got no food and no water. I am exhausted. If they're still chasing us then I'm not going to be able to out run them on foot anyway. It's getting dark and I need to rest."  
The dragon glowered back, but didn't contend the decision.

Bilbo, John, whoever he was, loosened his grip and turned his palms upward so Smaug, Sherlock, whoever he was, could sit in his open hands. The pint sized dragon huffed, then launched himself into the air, flapping his small wings and hovering awkwardly in front of the towering hobbit's face.  
"And of course none of this would have happened if you'd not insisted on saying goodbye to your new friends." The last word was said with a disdainful sneer, which Bilbo did not appreciate. His expression grew hard.  
"Oh well if we're going to be pointing fingers, then maybe if you hadn't tried to eat me when I came in I wouldn't have lost the ring, and we wouldn't even need to be running! Or if you want to go further, if you hadn't taken the Dwarves home from them-"

"That wasn't me!" The tiny dragon roared. "Or I didn't know it was me in any case."

"Oh really!" The hobbit shot back furiously. "Well you seemed to remember fairly quickly after you saw me! You couldn't have maybe tried a bit harder not to murder and displace Thorin's people?!"

"I'm a Dragon, John! I'm not a human anymore! Until yesterday I didn't realize I'd ever been one!"

A sudden clap of thunder interrupted the bickering companions. Silence stretched as the sound faded and was replaced by the gentle hiss of falling rain.

"... Right, let's get out of the rain at least. We can shout at each other... Sh-Sherlock?" The little fire drake winced and hissed in pain, dropping clumsily to the stony ground, panting heavily as what looked very much like steam began to rise from its small body.

"C-c-curse this new size." He grunted through chattering teeth. "M-m-my b-b-body can no longer produce en-n-nough heat. U-u-usually rain sh-should vaporize b-b-before reaching m-my skin." The hobbit stared for a moment, dumbstruck, before finally bending down, scooping the trembling dragon up, and shoving it carefully underneath his jacket, holding the minute being against his chest with one hand and making sure it was completely covered by his coat with the other.

For the poor halfling, the dragons skin was uncomfortably hot, even through the layers of his vest, but he felt Smaug curl into his body heat, soaking it up greedily.

"...Th-thank you, John." The dragon muttered grudgingly. The hobbit sighed and began walking again, looking for a dry place to rest.

"Yeah well, I'm still angry with you, but I'm not about to let you go dying again..."  
The odd companions faded into the darkening landscape, a litany of low level complaining the only indication of their presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second in a series of Sherlock AU prompt fills I wrote up for some of the good folks on Tumblr. :)  
> Please, feel free to leave a prompt in the comment box if you like! I can't promise I'll write all of them, just the one's that take my fancy, but I'm still open to suggestions! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. A Borrower borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [PROMPT]
> 
> Maybe some pocketlock with Sherlock and Molly. Set in the morgue or somewhere else if you'd rather. :)

Sherlock Holmes.  
The name alone could make her blush. The man had been the subject of many a secret daydream, and why not? He was gorgeous, brilliant, and had a baritone voice she could listen to for hours, even if he was doling out verbal abuse or expounding on ghastly murders.

Of course, the only place the two of them could ever meet was in her fantasies, where she was tall and beautiful and not scared of him at all. But that would never happen, because Molly Hooper was a Borrower, and Sherlock Holmes was a human, and for every inch that she loved him, she was equally afraid.

He'd been to the lab about an hour ago, working away on some project or other, but he'd gone and now the morgue was locked up tight for the night. Slowly, silently, Molly eased her way between the slats of the vent, dropping down onto the shelf below with the tiniest of thumps. She had with her a standard climbing harness and a large borrowing bag containing the pieces of a sterile syringe. Molly was not by any means the only borrower at St. Barts. Lots of Borrowers came to the Hospital to learn, reading from human textbooks and training alongside their unknowing human counterparts.  
It was Molly's job to borrow medicines and chemicals for use in the well hidden borrower section of the hospital. Right now, it was the latter she was after.

She attached the overlarge carabiner to one of the slats, tested it's stability, and walked to the edge of the shelf. She didn't really like being out in the human portion of the hospital. It made her feel smaller than she already was and left her stomach uneasy.  
Still, she let her eyes scan the room below her, trying to imagine what it would be like to work here as a human. She'd get to meet Sherlock, maybe help him with his cases, they could be... She shook her head. It wouldn't matter what size she was. She was mousey and nervous around other borrowers too. He'd never see her, even if she were human.

She sighed, testing her harness again and stepping backward, leaving the ground behind and instead swinging gently in the end of a string. She grunted as she fought for stability, eventually gaining the upper hand and lowering herself down more carefully.  
Her feet had just barely brushed the edge of the destination shelf when she heard it. She gasped, whipping around to stare at the door as a set of thunderous, echoing footsteps stormed their way closer.

No, nonononono! The lab was shut! No one was supposed to be here! Molly's breathing picked up as she panicked, feet scrabbling for purchase on the solid surface below her. She managed to gain her footing just in time to duck behind a large brown glass container when the lab doors burst open, and a human stomped its way inside. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth, praying that it wouldn't hear her, and peeked around the curved glass wall.

It was Sherlock who stood at the table. Of course it was. Who else would have barged in here after hours as if he owned the place?

He didn't bother to take off his coat, or even his scarf as he sat down in front of the microscope. Hopefully that meant he wouldn't be here very long.  
The lab was silent as the man placed something on a fresh slide and slipped it under the microscope. Molly watched as he made a few notes on a pad he'd removed from his pocket, readjusted the machine, then leaned back heavily in his chair with a frustrated growl.

"The brother. Ugh, dull. Can't Lestrade ever give me anything interesting?" Despite everything, the corner of Molly's lip quirked upward.

Sighing deeply, the human stood up, and Molly's smile dropped as she was reminded how small and vulnerable she really was. But it didn't matter so much. Sherlock was leaving, and soon enough she'd be able to finish what she'd come to do and go home.

The human pushed his char back under the table absently, and was about halfway to the door when he finally registered it. He turned, and Molly's tiny heart froze as he seemed to pin her with his quizzical gaze. Her breathing picked up again as he approached her shelf, and only then did she realize what had caught the man's attention. In her panic to get herself hidden, she'd not had time or focus enough to unclip her harness! The strings trailed from the straps over her hips all the way back up to the carabiner attached to the vent.

She shrieked as the string was tugged and she was pulled from her hiding place. She tried to find something to hold on to, but there was nothing that could keep her from being exposed.  
The man hesitated for a moment when he heard the scream, confusion and disbelief temporarily staying his hand, but it was only a flicker of time. Before she could even comprehend that the pause had happened, she was yanked clear off of the shelf, and left suspended before a pair of ice grey eyes.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed, the Baritone which used to captivate Molly now frightening her near to death. "Now this is interesting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third in a series of Sherlock AU prompt fills I wrote up for some of the good folks on Tumblr. :)  
> Please, feel free to leave a prompt in the comment box if you like! I can't promise I'll write all of them, just the one's that take my fancy, but I'm still open to suggestions! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. A Borrower Borrowed pt 2

Molly whimpered. Her lungs felt as if they had collapsed, refusing to draw any new breath in. In one swift motion, Sherlock reached up and detached her harness from the vent, carelessly depriving her of her life line, her way home. 

“There we are.” He said, coiling the trailing wire around his hand and turning back to the table. 

Molly’s heart pummeled the inside of her chest as she swung awkwardly, still suspended by the cables on her harness.   
“Nonononono please!” She begged, unwelcome tears of terror beginning to trickle down her face.   
A moment later she was lowered gently onto the work table, her legs turning to jelly the second they made contact with the blessedly solid surface.   
The human sat across from her, his towering bulk casting a shadow as thick as a shroud. She glanced up, but catching sight of those eyes, still beautiful, but distant, as if she were some scientific oddity to be picked apart, sent icy claws scraping down her spine. 

Sherlock for his part was completely enamored with his little discovery.   
“What exactly are you?” He mused aloud, leaning closer and very carefully taking her arm between forefinger and thumb, the better to examine it. “How can such a normally proportioned human body function at your scale? You spoke before too, meaning that above and beyond the regular bodily functions your brain must be quite developed for something your size. Possibly strangest of all, your vocal chords shouldn’t be able to produce the pitch you spoke in. They must be quite small, you ought to be speaking in a very high pitch, but you aren’t. Why is that?” 

The trembling Borrower finally got up the nerve to try snatching her arm back, gasping whimpering, she pushed and pulled against the giant fingers, only winning her freedom when the giant human loosened his grip and allowed it. 

“Hmm, I suppose this sort of fear response is only natural,” He conceded in a tone of resigned annoyance as she clutched her arms to her chest, as if afraid he may try to grab them again. “But I assure you, I’ve got no intention of hurting you. Let’s start off with a simpler question. What is your name?”

Oh no, he expected her to speak. She’d imagined introducing herself to him many a time, but in her mind’s eye she’d always been human. Any witty banter she’d constructed during long sleepless nights had deserted her, leaving her to stumble out a simple “M-M-Molly. M-Molly Hooper...” 

Sherlock Hmm’ned, though she wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Well, Molly Hooper,” Her name on his lips sent a new shiver down her spine, and not quite the pleasant kind she’d always imagined it would. “You may or may not know this already, but my name is Sherlock Holmes. From your clothes and the odd badge sewn onto your bag I can assume you’re not the only one of your kind, and in fact there must be many of you living in this hospital, is that correct?”

Molly’s eyes widened and her jaw clamped shut. She couldn’t, couldn’t just tell him about the others. Besides, how had he known? She’d always admired his deductive skills but this was disturbing to say the least. Sherlock nodded knowingly. “Yes, I can see by your body language I’m right. What were you doing when I found you just now?” he asked.   
Molly felt tortured. ‘You tell me!’ she thought. ‘You’ve probably already worked it all out. I want to go home, please Sherlock, just let me go home!’ But Sherlock simply waited, watching her intently and steepling his fingers and resting them gently against his lips, the way he always did when trying to unravel a mystery.   
Finally, when she could stand it no more, she took a deep breath. “I... I-I borrow things.” She muttered so quietly she wasn’t sure Sherlock could have heard her. 

She winced, ducking and covering her head with a small squeak when the human reached out for her, but relaxed a little when all he did was tug her borrowing bag free of its clip. She watched uneasily as he pulled the bag open, and smiled as if a suspicion had just been confirmed. 

“I suppose it must be very difficult for your species, race, whatever you are, to create everything you need for yourselves on a large scale while still keeping your activities hidden from human eyes, but is stealing from a hospital really the most efficient way to go about it? How come you haven’t been spotted on security footage? And why hasn’t anyone noticed the missing medicine?”

Molly felt the need to speak up for her people, even if her entire body was screaming at her to just keep quiet. Borrowers had a rough life, something the likes of which no human in a first world city like London could understand, and she hated any implication that they were freeloading vermin.   
“W-we only take what we absolutely need! T-trust me, w-we’re trying to produce more medicines on our own, b-but people are sick now. N-none of us would be here if we could avoid it!” To her surprise, Sherlock merely chuckled good naturedly and handed her bag back. 

“There’s no need to defend yourself. I was merely surprised you’ve gone this long without being noticed. I’ve been using the lab here for over a year and I certainly never suspected a thing. I suppose you must have ways around the security cameras, locks, alarms ect. I’m impressed, and that doesn’t happen often.”

Molly looked up at him, gob smacked. She knew it didn’t happen often. Sherlock was much more likely to tare someone down than pay them a compliment, and admitting you’d impressed him was just about the highest praise he could bestow. She felt herself starting to blush. “I... Uh, Th-thank you?” She stuttered, not quite believing she’d heard what she’d thought she had.

Suddenly, a piercing ring tone split the silence of the lab like an axe, making Molly jump and squeak in surprise and causing Sherlock to dig in his pocket, looking frustrated.   
He glanced at the caller ID before accepting the call, holding the phone and answering with a quick “Yes?”

Molly listened silently as Sherlock conversed with the person on the other line, never taking his eyes off of her, as if afraid she might run off. 

“Yes. No, John, it’s a very delicate experiment... Yes, in the bath, I am aware... Well Mrs. Hudson has a shower... No, NO! John, do not pull that plug! Are you listening to me? Don’t you dare- Damn it John!”

Molly screamed in shock as Sherlock absentmindedly slammed his fist into the table. It was a decent distance away from her, but it was still a shock.   
The detective growled in frustration as he terminated the call, glaring at the phone as if trying to reduce it to a melted lump with only the heat of his annoyance. “I’m sorry Miss Hooper, but it looks like we’ll have to continue this conversation another time. My flat mate has absolutely no regard for other people’s interests.” He stood to his full impressive height and pushed his seat back under the table. Molly gulped nervously, but also in relief.   
She’d met Sherlock Holmes, and hey, what do you know? She wasn’t in pieces on a metal trey. And he wanted to see her again! That was... Well, it was something. 

She got to her feet, legs still weak, and backed away a step subconsciously when Sherlock offered his hand, held palm up like a platform. “Come on.” He coaxed.  
Molly bit her lip, but nodded. After all, she’d be stranded on this table if she didn’t let him give her a lift back to the vent. She gathered up the trailing chords of her harness, winding them up so they wouldn’t become tangled then stepped gingerly onto his open palm.   
The look of intense attention and focus on his face as she sat herself down and he curved his fingers up protectively was... really embarrassing. He must have been filing new and fascinating data about the weight and feel of her in his hand into his brain castle or whatever it was he called it. She cleared her throat and looked away, her blush brighter than ever. 

“Inner or outer pocket?”

Molly looked up sharply, taken aback. “W-what?” She asked. 

“Inner or outer pocket?” Sherlock repeated with all the patience of a harassed preschool teacher dealing with a particularly stupid child. He pointed to his jacket at about chest height. “The inner pocket would be safer as there would be much less chance of anyone seeing you, and it would provide better stability. But it could be quite stifling, between your body heat and mine, not to mention the lack of air flow. The outer pocket,” Here he indicated a much larger pocket at about thigh level, “would provide much better air, but be quite unstable as I walk. I don’t know how much your small frame can handle. If you’re like a mouse or a rat, this option should give you little trouble, but if you’re more fragile-“   
Molly held her hands out to stop him, finally too horrified to keep quiet. 

“Wait a minute! I thought you were just dropping me off back up there!” She shouted, pointing to the vent. Sherlock barely glanced at it. 

“No, I did say I wanted to continue our conversation, and I’m not entirely sure you’d either want or be allowed to come speak with me again. I imagine security and secrecy are very important to your superiors. So, inner, or outer pocket?”

Little Molly was starting to hyperventilate. This was wrong, wrong wrong wrong! She was about to voice her rather strong reservations, when suddenly Sherlock’s phone went off again, this time to alert him to a text. He took it out and growled, “Oh god, John, can’t you go five minutes without ruining my experiments!” He shoved the phone back into the lower pocket of his woolen coat.  
“Inner it is then.” he sighed, seemingly out of patience. 

“No, No Sherlock NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted this collection of prompts on Tumblr, FF.net and here, and on all three sites people have asked for a continuation of the Borrower AU, so here it is!   
> I hope you like it! =)
> 
> I won't be able to write any more prompts for a bit, as I'm actually doing NaNoWriMo right now, and technically shouldn't have even written this as I can't add it to my word count, but oops too late.


	5. Needle and thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [PROMPT]
> 
> Feeling a bit sadistic today, so I couldn't resist.  
> I'd like a fic where Sherlock's mouth is sewn shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write darkfic, but for some reason I wanted to give this a try. ;;>__>

It’s easy to think someone is insane when they indulge in evil with such carefree enjoyment.  
But Barton Johannes was not insane. He cheerfully strolled down the path to hell with eyes open, singing as he went.  
John struggled uselessly against his bonds, listening with half an ear as Sherlock continued to rattle off deeply personal deductions about the man who currently had them trapped under his paw, trussed up in some abandoned building or other after their temporarily thwarted attempt to expose his side business in human organ trafficking. 

“Ooooh for gods’ sake, shut up already!” Barton whined, letting his head fall back on his shoulders like a frustrated child. “Don’t you need to breath? I mean, I’d be impressed and all, but you’re getting really annoying.”  
He pulled his gun out of its holster and pointed it directly at Sherlock’s head. John’s stomach clenched in sudden terror. Barton was the sort of person who would kill on a whim, without hesitation or thought. In fact, he did many unspeakable things on a whim, and because he was such a very whimsical man, he looked at Sherlock curiously, and instead of pulling the trigger, turned his head to look at John. 

“Hey, sew his mouth shut.” He said easily, as if he were suggesting they all go out for dinner.

John blinked and stared at the man. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, bile rising in his throat. 

“Sew his mouth shut. That, or I shoot him in the head.” Barton clarified, shrugging. He snapped his fingers and motioned to a couple of thugs. “You, untie his hands, and you, go get the wire thread.” Two of the four thugs set about following Bartons’ instructions while both Sherlock and John processed what was about to happen. “I’m not going to bother threatening you, because you do understand I’ll shoot him first if you try anything funny. “

John sputtered in horror and fury as his hands were freed and the wire and needle were deposited in his palms. “I can’t- I- I am not going to-“

“Oh!” Barton interrupted as if he’d just remembered something important. “By the way, just want to make sure I’ve got my facts straight, sorry for the topic change, but your daughter does or does not go to that quaint little kindergarten near your flat?”

Ice poured down John Watsons’ spine. It was clear from Bartons’ expression that he knew perfectly well that she did. 

“John...” Sherlock muttered, just loud enough for the doctor to hear. “... Just do it.” John turned slowly to Sherlock now. The detective was not looking at him, but was instead staring at Barton, his expression blank and unreadable.  
Two thugs grabbed the seat of the wooden chair Sherlock was tied to, and brought him close enough for the doctor to touch. A gun was pressed into the mass of dark curls, the tip of its barrel resting companionably against his temple. 

“Whenever you’re ready Doctor Watson.” Barton said graciously.  
Sherlock gave the hesitating man a small, almost not there nod, and with shaking hands, John prepared the needle and thread.


End file.
